


The Holiday

by captainangua



Series: Very supernatural Christmas fics [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, F/M, M/M, Multi, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Fluff, finally found an excuse to write about places i know, i happen to love that dumb christmas movie, so you know that dumb christmas movie, why shouldn't dean be kate winslet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-03 10:37:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12746634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainangua/pseuds/captainangua
Summary: Dean just watched the man he'd thought was the love of his life announce his engagement to someone else.Ruby just went through the break-up from Hell.Through the power of the internet, they figure that even if it isn't the season to be jolly, it might be the season for swapping homes and finding new people to care about.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone only looking interested in one half of the pairings involved, though there will be mild intermingling of lives and talking about the other and possibly to the others, apart from the first and last chapter each side of the story is only going to be told every second chapter.
> 
> So... as a project to make me definitely Write things, I'm going to update on this once a week, and should be finishing it up before the New Year...
> 
> Wish me luck and I hope you like over-the-top Christmas themed fluff, because let me tell you this is probably going to end up sickeningly sweet and i don't think i have much control over that. Not a single character holds their love interest at gunpoint. For anyone familiar with my other fics, I know. What's happened to me??

Dean had always used to love the office Christmas parties. It inevitably provided pre-paid alcohol, and a bunch of desperate singles from different floors looking for a last chance of a hook-up before they went home to the whole family to be grilled on their lack of love life.

But now Dean was almost thirty, he had an entire home full of alcohol, and he might somehow have become the desperate office single, so he felt a little different about it these days.

“Dude. The fuck are these frogs’ eggs doing in my fizzy wine?” Dean hissed to Victor the moment they were handed their first free glass of the night. His friend gave a critical eye to the prosecco.

“I think… it’s those balls from the Japanese juice.”

“…wanna talk me through that again?”

“Bubble tea man, you’ve not had bubble tea?”

“I’ve _heard_ of bubble tea, but last I checked Asda’s own brand prosecco didn’t have anything to do with it.”

Victor laughed, in exactly that way that always reminded Dean that he’d been an idiot to ever let this one get away and get married. But, of course, he couldn’t have ended up sleeping with the sweetest guy in the world with the sexiest laugh – Dean had to find the office sleaze instead. And stay hung up on said office sleaze. Even after… Dean took a swig of his glass, which he regretted instantly when the bubble balls hit the back of his throat. Six years. Fuck. It had been Christmas then too…

“Nah, I think we’ve graduated to a finer vintage this year. They know they can afford it now the Christmas sales numbers are in.”

“Hmmph. Yeah, it’s so good it’s full of balls.”

Victor gave him a Look.

“Wait, wait, hang on, I can do better…”

“The American gentlemen sure scrub up well,” said a teasing voice beside Dean, cutting him off before he had the chance to come up with anything better.

Dean blinked a few times as he took in the sight of the company’s chief design editor and her girlfriend. “Eileen. Bela. That’s… a lot of tinsel,” he managed as he clumsily signed out, “ _A lot_.”

“Tell me about it,” Bela said, her face grim, but eyes smiling.

Eileen shrugged, smiling. “Well it’s a festive night, we should be trying to match the mood. Oh, and Dean, I just… need to tell you that I found your new work incredibly beautiful.”

“Really?... Oh, you can fuck right off,” Dean finished with a shake of his head.

“Every. Single. Time,” Victor said, amazed.                             

Dean shrugged helplessly, unable to offer anything in his own defense. He’d been chief sound editor on the last two, very popular, games the company had made. And every other day Eileen still managed to catch him out and make him forget that she had no idea whether he was any good at his job.

(He _was_ though. If there was one thing Dean wanted to be remembered as in his obituary it was as the guy who set a haunting broken record loop of the riff from Don’t Fear the Reaper into the Chernobyl section of _the Risen Dead lll_.)

“So, I heard that the DJ they’ve got to play tonight is actually Hess’s nephew.”

“ _No_.”

“What we’re going to be listening to tonight folks, is nepotism at its finest.”

“Ugh.”

“I’m sure it will sound wonderful,” said Eileen, making her long-suffering girlfriend roll her eyes towards the ceiling.

Behind her, Dean squinted his eyes as he noticed Fergus Crowley beelining towards them, looking uncharacteristically rattled, and in a hurry.

Crowley had been… a lot of things to Dean over the years. When Dean had first started out in the company, Crowley had been his dick of a boss. Later, he’d become someone to bicker with over creative choices and to grab drinks with at the end of a long day. On one memorable occasion he’d technically bribed Dean with drugs. Inconsistently, they were lovers – but really only when they needed a rebound. Or if they’d managed to get particularly drunk. Or if there was nothing on the telly that night.

Mostly, the smarmy, aggravating son of a bitch was probably Dean’s closest friend, and knowing that only depressed Dean about half of the time.

“See that everyone’s looking… festive over here,” Crowley said as he joined the group, briefly raising his glass.

“Your powers of observation are astonishing as always, Fergus,” Bela noted.

Plastering on a vacant grin, Crowley reached out his free hand to loop around Dean’s arm. “I must apologise for my rudeness – but I am going to have to steal Dean here for just a moment…”

As Dean allowed himself to be led away with a shrug back at Victor, he heard Bela say, “that’s the first time I’ve heard that man decide he needed to apologise for anything…”

“Seriously,” Dean muttered as they passed through the crowds. “What the -”

Crowley stopped them at the cocktail bar. “What’s your strongest drink in tonight?”

The poor bartender, who looked about nineteen and clearly not happy with being left alone on such a big event, managed a “uhhhh….”

Crowley dismissed him with a hand and took up a stool. “We’ll have two.”

“What the hell is this about, man?”

Sucking in a long breath, Crowley seemed to grow taller on his perch. “Dean,” he managed, with what seemed like a lot of uncertainty.

“…yes?”

“Tell me. If you knew something about me that you knew was going to… _hurt_ me, but that I was going to find out anyway, would you tell me or wait for me to find out on my own?”

Dean stared as he hoisted himself onto a stool of his own. “Ok, I am loving this little dance you’re choreographing, but if you could get to the point sometime this week, that would be -”

“So, you’d tell me?”

“…I guess? If this about the sales meeting last -”

Crowley ignored him. “In a moment, there is going to be an announcement. Now… oh, fuck.”

“What?”

Dean turned on the bar stool to look at where Crowley had aimed his pointed nod – towards the stage, where currently the CEO, Harriet Hess, was tapping at the microphone and beckoning two people onto the stage. The first was Toni Bevell, Hess’s long-term assistant. Behind her was…

At Dean’s slow sidelong glance at him, Crowley nodded. To his credit, for once Crowley didn’t seem interested in making a joke of this.

Dean picked up the glass filled with pink liquid which had materialised next to him and downed it in one, then continued to clutch at the empty glass, concentrating on not allowing his hands to shake.

“…would like to make a very special announcement. Please join me in welcoming one of our senior writers, Arthur Ketch!”

Dimly, Dean registered Crowley laying a hand on his arm. “Do you want to get out of here?” he murmured.

Dean shook his head and continued to stare at the stage. He would find out later, _obviously_ , but he couldn’t leave now without _knowing_.

And he didn’t want Ketch to watch him go and think he was upset.

Upset was the mildest thing Dean could call himself right now, but that wasn’t the point. The point was pride, and that –

“… finally asked this beautiful woman to marry me.”

There was only one logical way to finish that announcement now, Dean reminded himself. But he still winced when he heard it.

“And she said yes!”

“I might throw up,” Dean said immediately, his words drowned out by the cheering, the clapping, the _celebration_.

“Please don’t do that.”

“I swear to you, I really -”

Crowley glanced behind him to the bartender. “Hey. Two more of those. And four tequila shots.”

“Sorry. We… we don’t have any tequila, sir.”

“What do you mean you don’t have any tequila?”

“We have this sagata – sagatiba, thing?”

“Four of those then.” Crowley shook his head and looked back at Dean. “Can’t believe this place.”

“Standards today,” Dean agreed absently, staring at the happily waving couple on the stage.

“Do…” Crowley screwed up his face. “Do you want to… uh… _talk_ , about it?”

“Since when did we start ‘talking’ sober?”

“Well now maybe you can understand the logic behind the tequila buying.”

“Thought it wasn’t tequila.”

“Drink it and tell me what it is, then.”

Narrowing his eyes, Dean reached for the first shot of clear liquid the bartender had laid out and downed it. Then he grimaced. “Disgusting, is what it is.”

“Ok, then maybe…” Crowley’s voice tailed off as Dean proceeded to drink the remaining three shots.

“You’re buying this round now, you understand that, right?”

*

Ruby walked into her office that morning holding a very large, very sparkly wreath, which she dropped down onto Charlie’s desk like it was roadkill.

Her assistant looked up at her, wide-eyed but unfased. “What?”

“What is this doing on my door, Charlie?”

“It’s cheering the place up. Festively.”

“Festively? And isn’t it still like, November?”

Charlie leant back on her chair, appearing troubled. “Christmas is… next week. You knew that, right?”

“Yes,” Ruby scoffed, lying.

“And what’s wrong with your face?” Charlie called as Ruby took a seat down at her own desk.

“The belated concern is noted, but unnecessary, thank you.”

Charlie’s keen stare didn’t waver. “Did you and Lilith have another fight last night?”

“Not everything in my life is about her, Charlie.”

Her assistant winced. “‘Her’. Ouch. A bad one then?”

Ruby turned on her computer, trying to remember how much she’d decided she didn’t care. “We broke up.”

“ _No_.” Gingerly, Charlie raised a hand to her own cheek. “Is that how…? Did you guys…”

It took some effort, but Ruby sighed and collapsed back into her chair instead of staying yes. “Not exactly.”

“How can -”

Ruby rolled her eyes. “Look, I threw her stupid novelty doll at the window and tried to smash it.”

Charlie’s eyes widened further in horror. “So she…”

“ _No_.” Wishing again that she could blame this on her now ex, Ruby went back to staring at her screen. “It bounced back and hit me in the face, ok? Lili thought it was hilarious.”

Biting down suspiciously hard on her lip, Charlie hummed in sympathy.

“See, what you need, boss, is a holiday.”

Ruby’s eyes flickered up to the man standing in the doorway and forced a smile. “Thanks for the advice, get back to work and how long were you standing there, Ash?”

He shrugged. “Long enough. Do you want me to go get Cas?”

“No, what I need you to do is sit down and talk to me about – Ash?”

Holding up one finger, Ash nodded, as though he alone understood the meaning of what she was _really_ trying to tell him, and started walking away. “I’ll go find him, boss, don’t worry.”

Ruby stared after him, mouth only gaping a little as Charlie shrugged. “Best not to argue, probably. Besides, we were going to need to talk to Cas anyway, remember? About whether he could cut down the main theme for the -”

Ruby waved a hand dismissively. “I remember.” But she hadn’t. Maybe, and god forbid the thought, but Ash was right, and she did need to get away from work.

“Charlie,” she said. “When was the last time I took time off?”

“Well… I’ve been here… three years? And I think I can only remember that day you took for your aunt’s funeral, so…”

“Would you say I’m ‘married to my job’?”

“Something Lilith called you?”

“Yeah. Fuck, I hate that phrase. Like, what a _genius_ combination of all the sexist, demeaning things you could call a woman with any ambition, I mean -”

“ _Absolutely_. You’d never hear them say it about a man. Wait…”

They both paused a moment.

“…So, I am?”

“As your assistant, I find it flattering you’re subconsciously seeking a stable polyamorous relationship with everyone here,” Charlie said loyally.

“Ughhh. Oh,” she said, sitting up as she noticed Ash’s return. “Cas, you did not need to come.”

Looking characteristically puzzled, Cas strode in. Lilith had a big family, and Ruby had met a lot of her other cousins in the time they’d been dating and then living together. But Cas was the only one Ruby had ever found attractive, had actually been trying to get with before she’d ever met Lilith.

“Well, it wasn’t exactly a bother. I was going to be here for the meeting in twenty minutes anyway…”

“…Meeting. Yes.” Charlie managed to catch her eye. “I knew that. Anyway,” she said, giving Cas he full attention once again, “I guess I _am_ hoping you can help me out. As you might have heard already, your cousin is a cheating piece of steaming shit and I want her things out of my house. Any chance you could act as delivery boy? You do kinda owe me one since it was you who introduced us…”

Cas opened and closed his mouth, reminding Ruby a little of a fish. “Ok… first of all, I’m sorry to hear that, no I hadn’t heard already. Secondly, she’s not my cousin. _Technically_ , I’m her uncle. And thirdly, I may have introduced you, because that was situationally the polite thing to do at a _networking party,_ but you cannot say that I owe you one. I actively discouraged you from seeking a relationship with her, because… Charlie, what did I say?”

“‘This can only end in tears, Lilith is a psychopath.’” Charlie shrugged and looked up at Ruby with only a little apology on her face. “He told me to set it as a note on my phone. Said something about ‘needing receipts’ I think.”

Ruby massaged her temples. “Charlie? Receipt-keeper?”

“Yeah?”

“What was it I said yesterday about my diet?”

“Not to let you stray from it unless it was a special emergency. …and this is definitely a special emergency,” Charlie added, unprompted.

*

“The… the point is,” Dean said as he sat down back at his kitchen table, thunking down a bottle of whiskey in front of Crowley, “is… that I don’t care.”

Concentrating hard on twisting the bottle top open, Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“…yeah. Because I don’t, right? Like… why should I care if he’s gonna be married?”

“But… you _do_ care. Because you found out six hours ago now and we’re still drinking.”

Dean glared at the whiskey his friend was helpfully pouring into his waiting glass. “Ok, so what if I do care. What does it change? Just… I’m an idiot.”

“Yes.”

“Well _thanks_ for the sympathy.”

“I’ve been giving out sympathy for six hours now, my supply is running a little low,” Crowley said dryly, watching Dean’s glass with something like concern. “What were you hoping was gonna happen, if this hadn’t happened?”

Dean shrugged. “I… I don’t know. I guess… we’d been too on and off for too long to believe it was still only going to add up to _nothing_. And lately he’s been so damn _nice_. Giving off all these hints. And I didn’t really _believe_ it but -”

“You wanted to.”

“Yeah.”

“You ever think about quitting? Not having to see him every day?”

Dean finished his whiskey. “And break _your_ heart?”

“Spare me. I’m serious though. Clearly, this job makes you unhappy. How do you make yourself happier?”

Inhaling deeply, Dean looked down at his empty glass. “Maybe I do need to get away from the place. Not to quit,” he added quickly, “fuck that, I like my job.”

“Ok, so… a holiday then.”

“Don’t make that face at me. I told you already I am not coming with you on that fucking retreat.”

“What face?”

“The _scheming_ face!”

After they’d both managed to force their way through another glass of whiskey, Crowley reluctantly agreed to leave the house and walk back to his own flat, apparently believing that Dean was doing better. And maybe he was. Dean didn’t know. The alcohol hadn’t made anything better, but it had provided a sort of bubble wrap armour to face the hard facts with.

The man who, four years ago, Dean had thought was the love of his life, who’d been the person who’d inspired him into finally coming out to his brother, was marrying someone else. And... Dean wasn’t ok with that, not yet, but surely this was a good thing in the long run, and…

The December winds beating at his window, making the whole house shake, felt like they were mocking him somehow. What else did he have to look forward to?

He did love his job, he _did_ , and he had good friends and Sam had been talking about making him get a pet, but…

On autopilot, Dean picked up his phone and scrolled back to the last email he’d had through from Arthur that he’d spent a day wondering how to reply to. He’d sent Dean over the manuscript for his novel, asking for Dean’s opinions. Because he still _valued_ those.

Dean had read the start, and it seemed good. But now Dean wasn’t sure if he should say that, or lie and say something mean. Or if he should reply at all.

After typing and deleting the word ‘hey’ three times over, Dean went back to his inbox. Everything else seemed normal and ignorable. Internet bill, signature needed for a petition… except for his newest message, which had been automatically forwarded to him from some kind of housing website, and was from a Ruby Deville.

**To whom this may concern,**

**I was hoping to find out whether your home was available for holiday renting over the Christmas period?**

**I have no pets, no serious allergies, and no guests I’d be bringing with me. Ideally, I’m looking to secure two weeks away.**

**Apologies for the late notice,**

**Ruby Deville**

Dean was usually a quick reader, but after a long session of drinking he needed to read the email over several times before he was sure of what it was trying to tell him, and then needed a few minutes to remember _why_ it would be saying what it was saying. Finally, crafting a mostly typo-free reply took _effort_.

**Hi Ruby,**

**This is Dean Winchester, whom it concerns. Unfortunately, the house you’re intrested in is only available for a holiday swap situation.**

**Dean**

Certain he wouldn’t be getting any further replies to this, Dean set his phone down on the table and turned on the TV. He’d had his house up on that stupid holiday website for years, which he was almost sure had been Sam’s idea, and because the photo they had up was pretty great, every few months he’d get people asking after it. But almost always, the holiday swap factor put them off. (Except this one guy, but Dean hadn’t wanted to either take the time off, or go to Newcastle for a week. Like… Newcastle.)

But it was sort of bolstering in its own way, remembering he wasn’t the only one in the world not looking forward to the holiday season. Trying to send yourself to Dundee for Christmas, alone… wow.

Thinking about it that way, Dean was starting to feel considerably less pathetic. And then his phone buzzed.

**Hi Dean,**

**Thanks for getting back to me. So, we would be swapping homes? Is it just you?**

**I would still be interested if you are. Can you provide some proof you’re not a serial killer and/or planning to use my house to commit some sort of felony?**

**Ruby**

Dean thought for a moment, but not for long.

**Hi Ruby,**

**Yes, just me. Not a serial killer, and no felony plans in the works. You? I’m happy to provide a facebook link to embarrassing photos and/or a CV. I’ve never done this before but I think we’re just supposed to be leaving keys under the mat or something?**

**Where is it you live?**

**Dean**

Almost immediately, there was a response.

**Hi Dean,**

**Attached is a photo of my place. It’s a little bigger than yours, and sadly doesn’t have a doormat. It’s in Beverly Hills.**

**To avoid being forced into you seeing my photos, I’m ok with never knowing what you look like. I’m going to trust that serial killers don’t care about stealing houses.**

**Ruby**

Dean blinked slowly as he opened the photo of the house. _House._ It was definitely more like a mansion, straight out of the Fresh Prince. When he got there he was going to have to fight to get that out of his head the whole time…

Which was when Dean realised he was seriously considering this.

He had been back to America only once since they’d left when he’d been fifteen, and that had been a stag weekend to Vegas. It was weird, he’d always meant to go back. For ages he hadn’t because of the expense, and maybe because… well he’d always assumed Sam would want to go back with him. But Sam had his own stuff going on to tie him here.

Dean didn’t. And maybe that wasn’t completely a bad thing.

**Hi Ruby,**

**I took holiday leave from tomorrow already, so I could be ready to leave for this from then.**

**Also, I have it on good authority that serial killers do not care about house theft.**

**Dean**

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruby arrives. She's not sold on the location, but the people might grow on her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Ruby chapter (as the even numbered ones will all be) but with a lot of the Dean details seeping in there

“…And you promise to look in on the house to double check he isn’t breaking my house?”

Ruby heard her assistant sigh long and hard down the phone before answering her. _“Yes. And remind me - why you couldn’t have avoided this by just renting somewhere like a normal person?”_

Because the house was on the sea like her grandma’s home had been and Ruby had, for once, for a moment, let her emotions run away with her.

“Because it seemed like a good idea at the time!”

“Passport, Ma’am?”

_“Are you really calling me in the line for passport control? You’re really leaving right now right now?”_

Shaking her head as she ignored Charlie’s yelling, Ruby hung up the phone, and, mustering a smile, handed over her passport.

Seated in first class seat moments later, Ruby hovered over the airplane mode button on her phone. She’d called in to work, and she’d got Charlie to handle everything else. But surely there was some other personal call she should be making before running off to _Scotland_ of all places with almost no notice, with every intention to spend Christmas there alone…?

Ruby clicked airplane mode on, giving up on the thought exercise. She had no close family she spoke to, her ex-girlfriend was a cheating piece of shit and friends outside of work took effort. She didn’t need to make arrangements for any pets whilst she was away.

She was an adult, who was free to make her own dumb decisions without owing anybody anything.

And that was a good thing. It _was_. She was finally going to get a chance to start reading all the books she’d spent the last few years storing onto her kindle, she could do some of that writing she’d always meant to start…

An hour into the first flight and Ruby had given up on all good intentions and started getting into the in-flight movie. It was one of _hers_ , one of the dozens of movies she’d worked on crafting a cohesive trailer for, and one she could safely say now that she was really watching it that they’d definitely managed to squeeze all the best bits into the trailers. She always disagreed with Charlie on whether that meant that they were cheating in their jobs or whether the movie should have tried a bit harder to make ‘good bits’ in the first place. (Ruby was pretty sure it was the latter.)

*

Almost twenty-four hours and only one major delay later, Ruby landed into Edinburgh, and found that the local taxi drivers did not seem keen on driving up the coast for an hour or so, but after some convincing, she managed to find one who was persuadable. It was sleeting outside, and Ruby, having never had to use that verb in her life or having had enough sleep recently to be interested in experiencing it close up, was not vibing making her way north on several different methods of public transport.

She didn’t realise she’d fallen asleep until the taxi driver told her they’d reached Dundee. Or, she was almost certain that was what he was saying. The accent was a little harder to keep up with than she’d expected, and she couldn’t decide if the man had never heard of diction or liked it too much. Or both, somehow.

The scenery wasn’t exactly meeting her expectations either. Ok, so she was cynical, and she always, _always_ tried to keep expectations low. She had seen all of two photos of the place she was going, and yes it had looked pretty, and yes it had looked like her grandma’s place, but she hadn’t really believed she’d be getting the full picturesque seaside town experience.

But coming into the centre of Dundee in the sleet-to-rain monstrosity still raging outside was still a bit of a heartbreaker.

At least it seemed… small? She could walk around here…

…But it still took them a surprisingly long time to get to the Broughty Ferry side of town where she’d be staying, by which time she was only just resisting the urge to bash her head against the door of the cab. Like, sure, this part was looking at least a little cleaner, but it had all gotten so fucking dark so fast. Literally. It literally looked like the middle of the night out there and it wasn’t even 4pm yet.

Like, she’d known it was winter when she booked, she had, but… really? Constant rain and darkness? Because _that_ was going to help with the breakup and the early mid-life crisis and the probable depression. Sure.

*

By 6pm, after finding the key (that Dean had _actually_ left under the doormat) and venturing out to get food and alcohol (which neither the weather or the shops made her feel confident about trying again) Ruby had at least started feeling fond of the house.

The house was safe. It wasn’t outdoors, it didn’t have any people with loud, and, frankly intimidating accents to deal with, and it really did have a log fire.

And it really did have that view.

There was something comforting about watching the wind and the waves and the rain from the warm comfort of the indoors, and the house really did get a good view of that, so staring at it killed some time in a soothing sort of way.

But soothing had gotten boring by 8pm.

So, by 9pm, Ruby was drinking heavily and playing with Dean’s record player and hoping his neighbours were all deaf.

…And by 11pm she was possibly more drunk than she’d allowed herself to get in years (which still, admittedly, pathetically, wasn’t all that drunk. She liked keeping in control of herself.) and she had idly started to look up flights home on her laptop.

She’d _tried_.

She had needed to get away, and she _had_ , she physically, actually, had. She’d allowed herself a good cathartic woman scorned movie moment. And that had been satisfying for a minute there. She’d watched the waves, just as she might have when she’d been eight years old and visiting her grandma.

Now it was time to admit the experiment was a failure – that, shockingly, sad and lonely woman remains sad and lonely when she makes herself even more alone by removing herself from her comforting routine to the other side of the world.

She was known as a person who made decisions, who took risks, and then stuck with them. That’s why she was so successful at what she did. She got gut feelings, and she trusted them.

But part of being good at going with your gut’s weird ideas was equally recognising when going with them had been a really fucking stupid idea and to pretend you’d never had it.

Even if this Dean guy wanted to stay camped out in her house for the remainder of the two weeks? Fine. Absolutely fine. She would get a fucking hotel room if she had to –

“Dean!”

Ruby froze, convinced, even with the knocking, or bashing, on the door that this was her imagining the wind saying something as it bashed into the house - since she _had_ just been thinking about the house’s actual occupant. Right.

“Dean, c’mon, it’s fucking cold out here -”

…Or maybe the house had a ghost? Old British buildings were haunted all the time, right?

…But by an _American_?

God, she’d have preferred a ghost, Ruby thought in defeat as she stood up, ready to give whoever was nearly breaking down her temporary door hell. If this was what Dean’s friends were like no wonder he was running to the other side of the world…

“Ok, asshole,” she muttered as twisted the lock and wrenched the door open. Revealing a very tall, very wet, very _attractive_ stranger.

Well, of course a stranger. She hadn’t expected to see someone she knew, right? Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Uh…” she managed.

“…not Dean,” the stranger said at the same time, blushing hard.

“No, I’m not.”

“Is he…” The man craned his neck to look past her into the house.

“He’s in California.”

The man blinked, reminding Ruby aggressively of a puppy trying to calculate where an un-thrown ball had just disappeared to. “…Right. I’m sorry, I’m very, very… I’ve drank a lot. Do you mind, explaining…?”

Ruby sighed and crossed her arms, finally remembering that she was supposed to be annoyed with this guy. “Cool. Well, Dean’s in California. I’m Ruby - hi, by the way. I live in California. Usually. We met online and decided to swap houses. Apparently that’s a thing.”

The stranger had been amiably nodding along before she mentioned the swapping houses, at which his eyes lit up and seemed to change colour. “Right! I got him into that. Didn’t think he’d ever actually, uh… yeah.” He groaned, apparently understanding something at last. “He left me a voicemail this morning.”

Ruby shook her head sympathetically. “And who listens to voicemails anymore?”

The man extended a long arm out dramatically in agreement, managing to spray Ruby with rainwater in the process. “Well _exactly_! So, I didn’t, and… _California_.”

“That’s the place.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

They stared at each other for another few moments, neither budging or speaking. “I’m really sorry,” he started again.  “Can I… is he going to be gone… long?”

Despite feeling tired of accidentally standing in as Dean’s secretary, Ruby was enjoying watching this man grow more and more flustered on her temporary doorstep, so decided to continue indulging him. “I’m supposed to be here for two weeks, so… so is he.”

The man, the _giant_ , Ruby thought, remembering his height as he shifted his weight, looked puzzled. “… _supposed_ to be? I’m sorry,” he added again, apparently remembering himself. “This is… prying.”

“Why are you American?” Ruby asked, giving up.

“What?”

“Your accent, you’re not from here… right?”

“No, no, uh – me and Dean are from uh, Kansas originally – I’m his brother, Sam.”

“Right… brother.”

When they’d joked about swapping lives she hadn’t intended to meet the family. But then… she hadn’t expected the family in question to look so… cute.

“Do you want to come in?”

Sam opened his mouth wide, apparently forgetting how to speak.

“Well, sure. Uh… do you mind if I use De – your toilet?”

Ruby moved to the side of the door and stretched out an arm. “…go right ahead.”

After Sam had rushed inside, Ruby closed the door and padded over the floorboards to the mirror. Fuck, she looked a state.

She hadn’t been, and still wasn’t, looking for company, she reminded herself. But it never harmed the ego to be looked at nicely, and no one in their right minds was going to be doing that in her direction now. True, dark hair was doing its usual job of hiding the grease, but her _face_ …

By the time Sam had re-opened the door she had managed to half re-do her make-up and spritz perfume all over herself, and had gotten midway through an internalised speech reminding herself that the guy was drunk, and would probably barely know or care what she looked like.

He looked sheepish, and was only stumbling a little when he re-emerged, clutching his head like he was afraid his hair was about to fall out. “Hey,” he said, and moved to take his coat off.

“Let me… ah, yeah. Right. You know where the coat-stand is.”

Sam smiled, and it was a nice smile. A dazzling kind of smile.

Fuck.

Who said rebounds were a bad idea anyway?

“I grew up here,” he explained, leading them both thoughtlessly into the living room, and Ruby’s abandoned blanket and empty bottles, and open laptop. “Well,” he continued, gentlemanly ignoring the mess, “We moved here when I was eleven, and Dad found this place not long after. And then when he died, Dean moved in.”

“So, when you have a night out in town…” Ruby said, sitting down, blocking the blanket from view.

“My big brother usually puts me up in our childhood home instead of letting me drive drunk.”

“Ah, so that’s what siblings are for…” As he laughed, Ruby eyed the mostly empty bottle of wine. “Can I, uh… get you anything?”

“Oh, uh…” Sam followed her gaze. “Oh, no more for me, thank you, so much. Sometimes Dean sits up and drinks some more with me at this point in the night, but mostly he just forces me into ordering takeout.”

“I could kill for a dominos,” Ruby admitted. “You have those here… right?”

Sam laughed. “We definitely have those here. And I could definitely be interested in ordering one… if it’s not imposing?”

“Dude. You are literally the one solitary person lucky enough to speak to me, all day, who was not a cab driver or a shop assistant, ok?”

“Ok.” Sam’s lips twitched. “Pizza then.”

As Ruby started to pull up the dominos site on her laptop, she was aware of Sam staring at her, but since she hadn’t decided what to do with that yet, she decided to ignore it.

“Still can’t believe Dean’s missing Christmas. He never goes anywhere.”

“Yeah?”

“I mean I – we’ve – got family here, but there’s no parents anymore, it’s just us, so… yeah, unlike him. Are you avoiding family?”

“Well, since the parents are write-offs and I’m an only child and the older generation’s all dead… not so much. But you seem ok.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean… what’s got Dean uninviting himself to Christmas? Way he started talking I was vibing relationship drama.”

“Well… yeah, actually,” Sam said with something like a huff. “Not that you could… anyway.” He was looking chill, Ruby noticed, but one of his hands had balled very carefully into a fist. “Guy messing him about hasn’t made it a relationship in years.”

“Dean’s gay?”

“Well that just… slipped out – but, well yeah – no, he’s bi.”

“Hey, same,” said Ruby, still staring at the screen. “So, we were two bisexual messes running away from relationship drama. Huh.”

“I guess… Running away?”

“Basically. Considering running back now, too.” She smiled up at him, trying to keep it self-deprecating and not entirely self-pitying. “Thought break-ups might be easier to get through on the opposite side of the world.”

“Sounds like a solid theory.”

“Well, you’d think, wouldn’t you?” Ruby pulled a face. “But it turns out you mostly just realise how fucking pathetic you are.”

“You don’t seem pathetic to me.”

“Come back an hour ago.”

He looked at her, seeming less and less drunk by the minute. “So why here?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well… why pick Dundee? Why pick Scotland?”

“I wasn’t exactly thinking. Ok. I’ll admit, that’s a lie. I was thinking – I was thinking about my Grandma. She was from here originally. Don’t ask me where, because I haven’t got a fucking clue, but I do know that when she died she’d managed to find a place by the sea that she said looked like the place she grew up.”

“That’s really…”

“Dumb?”

“I was going to say sweet.”

“Believe me, sweet is not what I’m famous for.”

“So, what are you famous for then, Ruby?”

It was really, actually dumb, but Ruby decided to choose that moment to crane her neck up and kiss him, laptop still perched on her knee. ‘Choose that moment’ – why was she choosing any moment?

But she had, and she’d chosen this one, and they both seemed to be getting really into it.

“That wasn’t to imply that I’m famous for being a slut or something,” she said the moment they broke away, Sam looking stunned.

“…That really wasn’t what I was getting from that.”

“Yeah?”

“I was just thinking you seemed like a famously good kisser.”

“That is an awful line, and I really, really want you to understand that. But… you weren’t so bad yourself, and look, cards on the table I think I need a rebound. Like, _need_ a rebound. Your ex cheating on you with a mutual friend messes a person up. And I think we’ve both been drinking. So… I’m just thinking we should just go ahead and have sex. If you’d be into that.”

“You are?” Sam’s voice sounded a little gone at this point, but his eyes hadn’t looked away from her’s, and not in a terrified way.

Ruby put her laptop down on the table. “I mean, yeah. It doesn’t sound like the dumbest idea I’ve had in the last couple of days, and you’re insanely good looking -”

“…thank you?”

“You’re welcome. But look, man if you still need a place to crash, you didn’t know it was me here so if you’re wanting to stay on the couch tonight, I am not gonna bother you. I’m just -”

Ruby stopped talking when Sam put a large hand around her wrist. “Hey,” he said, which was enough to get her to look at him again. “You’re sure about this?”

“What about my previous statements wasn’t clear enough?”

Ruby was about to start saying something else when Sam swept her into his arms, and in moments she was straddling his waist as he pulled a hand up through her hair.

As Ruby struggled to remember how to breathe, she thought that even if she did end up leaving the day after arriving here it might not have been a total waste of a trip.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So next chapter's a Dean one...


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean hates flying but he like Ruby's house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's arriving a little later since I managed to delete the note I had for most of it on my ipod like a really sensible person and was too frustrated by this to do anything about it until today...

Dean had started to regret his big impulsive idea before the plane had even taken off. Or, more precisely, _because_ the plane was about to take off.

“Hey, dude – are you ok?”

Dean ignored the voice, hoping it would go away – hoping that all of this would go away. He’d thought he was over this, and actually hadn’t even considered how he was going to get to L.A. when he’d started making his plans to be there.

This was fucking nuts. He was running away from his only family at Christmas, getting on a plane, which he’d agreed to do only on only a tiny traumatic handful of times in his life, and going there alone. And because… what, so he could get some warm weather?

He needed to get off this fucking plane.

“Hey, _hey_ there buddy, can I help you out there?”

Dean forced himself to focus on the speaker, who he could now see was a small, skinny guy maybe around his own age who was laying a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“First time flying?”

“…No. But last time I had to do it I got really, really drunk.”

Dean’s new travelling companion nodded thoughtfully. “Don’t have any way to help you get inebriated there, compadre, but I can lend you my fidget cube if that would be of any help to you…”

Trying to ignore the rumbling of the plane as it started to move its way along the runway, Dean opened and shut his eyes a few times, wishing he could pretend the nightmare away.

“…cube?”

“Yeah. You know those fidget spinner thingmies?”

“Uh… uh-huh?”

“Well, it’s not like that.”

Dean opened his eyes again to better be able to glare at the man sitting next to him. “Think I’m ok. ‘nks.”

“Well, not meaning to offend but you don’t _look_ ok.”

“Awesome.”

“I mean, you look all pale and like you feel like finding one of those paper airplane bags… I’m Garth, by the way. Can I offer you a sweet to stop your ears from popping? Some people say it don’t work for them, but I always find…”

Dean groaned, before clutching at his armrests as the plane started lurching forward. “Fuckfuck _fuck_ …”

“Hey – we’re not taking off yet, we’re just moving!”

“Which means we’re gonna take off after that!”

“Well… yeah… Are you sure you don’t want the fidget cube?”

Dean closed his eyes and tightened his grip on the armrests. “Fine. Gimme it.”

“Don’t worry buddy, we’re gonna get through this.”

And the weird thing was that they did – he did. The guy – Garth – was a distracting natterer and Dean focused on his breathing, focused on his borrowed fucking fidget cube and flicking the switch part of it on and off and on again. And it felt like an eternity of torment but by the time the pilot announced their descent Dean almost felt like he could remember how to breathe again like a normal living person.

He’d faced his fear and he’d -

“…arriving in London Heathrow…”

…managed to fly for a fucking hour.

He had two more flights to go, and they were going to be a lot longer.

He was too hungover to deal with this.

“I need a drink,” he mumbled as Garth patted him on the arm in congratulations.

*

Dean might have said goodbye to Garth at Heathrow, but at the man’s insistence he carried his fidget cube all the way with him to LAX. Because he did make it. The whole experience would make it up there in the top ten list of times Dean would love to be able to wipe clean from his memory, but he made it.

When he stepped off the plane, restraining himself, just from kneeling to the ground and kissing it, he felt surprised at the warmth of the air. He’d known that a winter in L.A. would not feel like one at home – or at least, intellectually he had. But it still felt hard to believe somehow. He’d made this happen.

And all the way through passport control and into a cab Dean still felt half in that same daze. He had crossed the fucking Atlantic and then some. All on his own. And now here he was being driven on the right/wrong side of the road again and there were _palm trees_ lining the streets outside his window and most bizarre of all there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky today despite the famous smog he’d been told to expect. Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen one of those. That just did not get to happen back home, ever. Especially not with Christmas jingles being blasted from the radio.

Dean thought he’d started adjusting to the fact that this really was him for the next two weeks when the cab driver dropped him off and he gave up again.

Like… he’d seen the photos. The house was big, awesome.

He knew the code to get through the front gate. He’d just hadn’t realised what a ginormous fuck off beware of the dog gate it happened to be.

Before he dug around his phone notes for the gate code he stared through the bars at the house. All that. Just for him.

Fuck.

Certain now that this was all some kind of scam he’d let himself walk into that he just hadn’t figured out the angle to yet, Dean got himself through the gate, and then remembered the key code for the front door too. And then he was through.

Feeling giddy now, Dean dropped his bag and slid a loving hand over that bannister, which presumably led upstairs to another fucking giant floor, and let his eyes skirt around him. The faux marble flooring which led next door to… Dean let his jaw drop and raised a finger, like he was considering rebuking the room for existing. It was a room with a TV as long as the wall. And all along the other walls… Movies. Stacks upon stacks of blu-rays and DVDs. There were probably as many movies in this room as Dean had ever seen in his life.

And Dean had watched a lot of movies in his life.

Dean ran his fingers along some of them as he ran out of the room and into a kitchen. Well, calling it a kitchen was doing the thing a disservice. It was a fucking superkitchen at least three times the size of Dean’s (which admittedly wasn’t hard) and just like everything else it was all Dean’s for two weeks.

Dreaming now of the bed he hadn’t been able to stop thinking of for twelve hours, Dean looped back around through a living area back around to the stairs, which he raced up like a kid on Christmas morning. And when he turned the corner…

“Now that’s a king of beds,” Dean said approving, and rushed forward to greet it with his entire body.

*

Dean awoke feeling more rested than he could remember being in a long time, as well as unsure of what day it was and even less sure that he cared. He knew it was during _a_ day at least – that was the sun attacking his face, which was also probably what had woken him up in the first place.

He was thousands of miles away from home, from his routine, from his family, his friends… and he felt fucking _amazing._ Slamming his hand down on the radio next to the giant bed, Dean eventually found a station playing something cheerful and Dean managed to get himself up, whistling along as he did so.

He had no idea what he was going to do that day. Absolutely none.

He could do anything, Dean fought to remind himself as he pulled his phone off charge. He could go on a Hollywood studios tour. He could go see if the tower from _Die Hard_ was real and still standing. He could take Ruby’s car and drive for a couple of days and see what his childhood home was looking like these days…

But before he did anything he should probably answer his messages first. Victor wanted to know why he hadn’t come into work. Crowley wanted to know if he’d gone and done something ‘stupid’. And then…

**Arthur:**

**Hey, I tried looking for you in the break room today. Hope everything’s alright. I’ve been feeling beyond confused lately and could use a chat. You always know what to say.**

Dean stared at the message for about a minute, forcing his body to keep on breathing, forcing his fingers not to click on the ‘call’ button like they were itching to.

Because what was ‘confused’ supposed to mean? What the fuck did that mean?

He had fucking asked his girlfriend to marry him. He had. Dean had been forced to bear witness to the public evidence. And all this from a man Dean hadn’t officially dated for years…

Dean could have easily sat having a crisis over that for a good few hours, but then the doorbell rang and didn’t give him a choice in that. Blinking, Dean looked down at himself. Since he’d fallen asleep in his clothes he didn’t actually look all that unpresentable, and it was probably just a mailman or someone struggling to get past that dumb gate.

Speaking of… Ruby _had_ left him emails explaining how to get said door open from the inside… right?

Dean scrambled downstairs to answer the still ringing phone. “Just a minute,” he yelled and started methodically pressing every likely-looking button available to press. For a moment before Dean eventually landed on the right button by luck he thought he heard a man’s chuckle down the phone. It was a nice laugh, Dean let himself think as he looked out the window to watch the gates swing open… and the ugliest car he had ever seen in his life drive through them.

“What is… _that_?” Dean asked himself aloud before opening the door to the outside. Which, though he was braced for the cold, was still, obviously, pleasantly warm.

“Hey,” Dean said with an awkward wave he wanted to bury himself for as the owner of the ugly car stepped out of it and was… definitely not ugly.

“Hi,” the man with the ugly, ugly gold car but the beautiful, beautiful mussed up sex hair that didn’t even look like it was there on purpose said, looking at the house as though it confused him. “Are you Ruby’s…?”

“Oh, I’m Ruby’s _nothing_ I don’t even know her – I mean I do,” Dean hastily added at the man’s sternly narrowed eyes. “We met like… yesterday. Online. We swapped houses.”

“You…?”

“Yeah I didn’t think it really happened either. But hey, I’m here and Ruby’s at my house.”

After apparently taking a moment to calculate the likelihood of any of this in his head, the man gave a long sigh. “So, she’s… on holiday?”

“Basically. ‘Til Hogmanay – New Year.”

The man rolled his eyes and entire body away from Dean. “And of course, she wouldn’t mention this…”

“I’m sorry, who are you to Ruby?” Dean finally had the sense to think of asking.

“I’m her… colleague. Sort of.”

“You’re not the ex she mentioned, are you?”

The colleague gave an unexpected bark of laughter. “Hardly. No, I am family to her ex though. So, Ruby begged me to come over and take back Lilith’s stuff for her. But of course, when I do…”

“Ruby skips town. Gotcha.”

“So, I guess I’ll have to cancel this impromptu family gathering I forced myself into organising. And the drive up here was a waste.”

Dean couldn’t help himself, his eyes slid back to the car, but he did manage to stop himself from pointing that the money spent to buy that thing had also been a waste. From the way Ruby’s ex’s family member was looking at Dean he had a feeling the guy could read his mind.

Dean coughed. “I mean, I basically just got here and have no idea where any of Ruby’s ex’s stuff might be hiding… but like you’d be welcome to have a root around.”

The guy didn’t look away. It was sort of unnerving, and a lot hot. “Are you sure?”

“Sure.” Dean shrugged. “Dude, I have no plans, and I am so jetlagged I am currently not sure what day it is.”

“It’s December 13th.”

“…Cool.”

“How far were you flying from?” the guy asked as together they started moving towards the door.

“Uh, Scotland, so a long-ass way.”

“You don’t… _sound_ Scottish.”

“According to my brother I’ve started sounding it when I’m drunk but yeah no, I’m from Kansas originally.” Dean smiled as he opened the door and did another _stupid_ wave like he was waiting on a high-five. “Dean, by the way. Hi.”

The man Dean had just invited into his temporary home looked like he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite remember how. “Cas.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that short for?”

“Castiel.”

“That’s…”

“I know.” _Now_ he smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Yet. Dean was determined to get it there. “But then, here Ruby was dating Lilith, so I can’t really complain…”

“That’s cool. So, she was trying to get away from her ex-girlfriend, I was running from my ex-boyfriend… cute,” Dean said casually, like he wasn’t trying to out himself as quick as he’d ever done just to try and send hopeless ‘interested’ signals over at a guy he still barely knew the name of.

“I suppose,” Cas said, looking at coat hanging on the bannister and frowning.

“How come they ended things anyway?”

“Well, it’s private business of two women I’m close to, so I probably shouldn’t say. But since I’m currently annoyed at both of them… Ruby invited Lilith to live with her, despite all warnings from me, and apparently Lilith has been cheating on Ruby for months, which Ruby found out just yesterday.”

“Fuck, that’s a tough one.”

“Yes, but then, so is Ruby.” Cas frowned again. “I’ve never known her to take a holiday before though…”

“You been working with her long?” Dean asked as he followed Cas through to the movies room, where Ruby had helpfully thrown about thirty into a giant cardboard box labelled, BITCH.

Cas gave another of his almost smiles at that and kept moving forwards to the kitchen. “A few years, on and off. I’m the go-to composer for most of a director’s music, who also favours Ruby as her trailer director.”

“Who is it?” Dean asked.

“She wouldn’t have anything in the kitchen…” Cas muttered and started moving again. “Meg Masters.”

Dean’s jaw dropped. “Meg Masters? Serious? Dude, I love those movies.” He inhaled quickly. “ _Wait_. Does that mean you composed, duhDOOduhbeedoh from _the Return of the Scarecrow_? You’re Cas Milton? Seriously?”

Cas Milton eventually stopped walking and faced Dean. “Uh… yes.”

“ _Fuck_. I’ve been following your shit for years, I had no idea you were…” _Hot._ “…Young.”

That slight smile was a little wider this time, to Dean’s delight. “So, what is it you do, Dean?”

 _Cas Milton remembers my name_ , Dean wanted to tell someone, but since the only someone around was the man himself he succeeding in swallowing that. “I mean I also do music… sort of. Not like you.”

Cas cocked his head to one side, his full attention returned to Dean once more. “So what is your music like?”

“I mean I was in a band in Uni that was mostly a weird indie fusion thing…” _Stop talking!_ “But these days I work in games.” Dean scratched at the back of his head. “…You ever hear of _the Risen Dead_ franchise?”

Flatteringly, those blue eyes widened. “Were you at all responsible for the Blue Oyster Cult in the Chernobyl section?”

“…That’s me,” Dean said, and risked a smile. “Guilty as –”

“That was _inspired_.”

“Ok-”

“No, really.” Now _there_ was a real smile. “I really only made it through the third one for the soundtrack choices.”

Dean laughed. “I have a few colleagues who would definitely be upset to hear you say that…”

The composer suddenly looked thoughtful. “You know. I think Ruby has a very expensive coffee machine in her kitchen which she’s always bragged was so complex she’d never worked out how to use. Would you be interested in trying to work that out with me and sending a picture of that to her with me?”

Dean grinned. “That sounds like the best idea I’ve heard so far about what to do with this weird day…”

*


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruby considers booking a flight.

Ruby woke up alone and a little cold in her – well, Dean’s – bed. Which was… fine.

That had been the deal, right? She was leaving, they’d both been more than a little drunk and he was going to be gone in the morning – a fun mistake that she’d be able to look back on nostalgically once she made it home.

But it really _had_ been fun – so much so that Ruby was reluctant to think on it as a mistake at all.

She hadn’t been with a guy in almost a decade, and that was mostly because, in her experience, they just didn’t try to be as good as the girls. It just wasn’t usually worth the effort.

But Sam had been worth the effort. Sam had been worth the effort several times over. And now he and his dimples and his shockingly sculpted abs had left her alone. Which was what she’d wanted. Obviously.

Sitting up, Ruby groaned at the slight ache of her head. She’d need to get moving if she ever wanted to get those flights booked and transport to the plane of course and…

And was that burning toast?

Pretty sure she was exhibiting no other signs of a stroke, Ruby padded down the tiny wooden staircase and down into the kitchen where Sam, fully clothed once more, seemed to be attempting to make a full English breakfast. And burning all of it.

“Ah-ha,” she said, wandering in and attempting to stop a massive grin from spreading over her face. “We’ve found something you’re not good at,” she said, hugging herself as Sam looked back at her with eyes that were crying out for help.

“Yeah… uh. Dean usually does all the cooking in here…”

“I’m getting that sense.” After watching the large man hopelessly fumble around the very small kitchen, Ruby stepped forward to rescue him.

“Alright, Martha Stewart. Lemme give you a hand here…”

About thirty minutes later they were sat at Dean’s kitchen table, struggling their way through the charred offerings.

“Y’know,” Ruby said thoughtfully. “I’ve always preferred food that’s fried to shit anyway.”

“Yeah?”

“Yup.” She grinned. “’Sides. Can’t remember anyone making me breakfast ever, so the thought still counts for a load.”

Sam smiled, then cleared his throat slightly. “Ruby, last night -”

“Dude. You do not need to go giving me the one magical night only speech. Big girl here, and probably still leaving today anyways.”

“You, uh, you still sure about that?” Sam asked, as Ruby tried to figure whether his face showed disappointment or relief.

She looked him right back in the eye and smiled. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Sam coughed again and looked back down at his own plate which he’d scarcely touched. “Just… I know you don’t know anyone here, so… well if you’re _not_ leaving today -”

“Pretty sure about this one, man.”

“Right, but if for whatever reason you don’t… I’m meeting with some friends at one of the locals tonight –”

“Party animal this weekend, huh?”

Sam laughed. “Yeah, it’s uh… really a weekend off for me. But yeah. If you’re still in town, you should come along and join us.”

“Thanks. But…”

“Pretty sure about this?”

“You got it.”

“Itching to get home already?”

“Some friends I can see, some shops I actually recognise. My job.”

Sam looked at her in confusion. “Haven’t you taken time off for this?”

“Well, sorta. But like, it’s my company. So, if I want to take another job on I will.” She sighed, laughing a little to herself. “Sorry, I know that sounded pathetic. Going home to my job, fuck that’s sad…”

“I was just going to say that you seem really young to be owning your own company. I mean that’s incredible.”

“Thanks,” she said, smiling. “I like you. You give me compliments. What is it you do again?”

“Oh, I’m a book editor.”

“Ah-ha, good with words then.”

He shrugged. “I guess I can be? We get some pretty dicey stuff in since it’s internet based but… I enjoy it anyway. The company tends to give me a lot of freedom.”

Picking up his mug of coffee, Sam checked his phone which had been lying out on the table and his face changed subtly. Ruby couldn’t help narrowing her eyes. That looked like the face of a man who’d just been reminded of something that was inconvenient to him. Something like a girlfriend.

But he’d invited her out to meet his friends and, surely, he wasn’t about to do that unless he was single. Unless, of course, his friends were also liars and scumbags.

Maybe Lilith had happily kept going out with all their mutual friends, including the one she’d been sleeping with, and they’d all got to have a good laugh about how fucking stupid Ruby was.

“Anyway,” Ruby said, standing up and picking up her phone. “It’s been really great meeting you and… everything.”

“The everything was definitely great,” Sam agreed, taking his cue to stand. “For the record, your ex is nuts.”

“Thanks,” Ruby said. “And yeah. If the plane’s delayed or something…”

“Great,” Sam said, nodding and leaning his face down. Ruby was almost he was aiming for a kiss on her cheek, but then she leaned her head up at the wrong moment and now they were actually kissing in a kiss that Ruby did not want to have to stop.

But she did. Because she had things to do, places to go, and sure, maybe this whole episode hadn’t been a mistake exactly, but it had only been a distraction, and she didn’t need any more of those in her life.

*

Ruby did the only thing she felt was sensible to do after being left by her should-be-one-night-stand in a different country – which also happened to be currently a very cold country - and went to take a shower until her hot water ran out.

Then she changed into real clothes and tried to force herself into productivity by sitting down by her laptop, exactly where she’d been when Sam barged in on her lonely drunken evening. Looking up flights.

Right.

By the time Ruby was retrieving her passport she was getting the strong sense of deja-vu. She was too hungover and probably too jetlagged to feel motivated to get another plane, or to stare at a screen.

Maybe she’d feel more into this if she put on some Christmas music in the background and she could montage herself into action…

No, _no_. To both the mistake of Christmas music, which would only succeed in infuriating her, and to trailer directing her life again. Her life was not a movie, and not everything could be solved with pretending you were living a montage.

After making her way through Lilith’s recent tweets, seven buzzfeed quizzes, one compilation of FAIL vines and nine trailers she had no intention of ever watching the movies of, she went into the kitchen and started trying to make herself a sandwich, before remembering she never actually bought herself any bread, and worked her way through the snack food she had bought.

When she made it back, reluctantly, to her laptop, Ruby noticed Sam had added her on facebook and messaged her the name of the pub he’d mentioned. He’d ended the message with an ‘x’ – which surprised Ruby a little. He hadn’t exactly seemed the type.

Without clicking on the message, but smiling at it despite herself, Ruby switched tab back to the flights she was definitely booking.

Yup. Because she was being productive. On… her holiday?

Right.

*

The ‘local’ Sam had invited Ruby to was, a little sadly, the same one he and Mick had drank in a lot as seventeen year olds, eager to look out the places with little interest in seeing IDs. For that, the place had retained their loyalty, and because whenever Dean joined them, he enjoyed that the pool table was almost always empty.

Dean of course, was in _California_ , and not joining them. Which was beyond bizarre. Dean hated breaks in his routine much as he complained about it, he hated flying and Sam knew he had several suitcases worth of issues about seeing America again.

But he’d gone anyway. So now Sam was more sober, he was mostly feeling… proud, which he’d told Dean eventually after several preceding colourful texts.

Dean hadn’t gotten back yet, but then hopefully he was busy – or sleeping, no doubt he deserved that after a flight that long.

Ruby also hadn’t replied to him.

Which was fine. She was almost definitely on a flight already. But for some reason Sam still scanned the room for her dark head of hair before looking for his friends. And when he found them they were quick to call him out on not immediately finding them.

“Were you looking for someone?” Mick asked, eyes narrowed.

“Did you hook up with someone last night?” Victor chimed in. “Didn’t I say -”

“No, he didn’t, he went home early,” Mick confirmed. “Cannot hold his drink any better than he could as a teenager.”

Sam pointed a finger in his friend’s face. “And this is why we need to stop coming out to this place especially. No one likes it when you get all nostalgic like this, man.”

“So is your brother _ok,_ ” Victor asked, ignoring the familiar squabble as Sam started to get comfy and take his coat off. At least this place was always warm.

“Define ok,” Sam shot back with a slight smile. “I mean we haven’t actually spoken. But as far as I can tell he has actually gone to California. Which, as far as I know, he only ever wanted to do for a studios tour of his favourite soap, and because of the Zeppelin song.”

“But it’s like… a week to Christmas.”

“I know.”

“Work is fuming he took that extra day before his holidays were meant to start. It was not a fun day.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, and I tried asking Crowley about what happened to them after the party, but he got all infuriatingly smug and tight-lipped – Sam? You listening?”

Sam blinked, but only because there was now a hand waving between his eyes and their view of Ruby, who had just walked in the front entrance of the pub, looking for all the world like she wasn’t there to meet anyone and didn’t need to.

She also looked amazing. She’d looked amazing the night before, of course, but now it was obvious that she’d… tried. She was making everyone else in the room seem underdressed and faded, somehow.

“Dude, put your tongue back in your mouth,” Sam registered Victor saying as he gave Ruby a cheerful and hopefully not ridiculous wave.

She saw, smiled and walked over to him – them – her slightly heeled boots clacking pleasantly down on the wooden floorboards.

“Guys,” Sam said, clearing his throat as he stood up to give her a hug. She smelled good too. Damn it. Why did the others have to be here? “I’d like you to meet Ruby. We uh, met last night.”

Victor only widened his eyes and grinned, remembering himself enough to hold out a hand in greeting, but Mick seemed incensed. “This,” Sam heard him muttering, “is just stupid luck.”

*


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean meets some more of his heroes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...did i say this would be done for christmas?

After a shower and answering most of the barrage of texts sitting on his phone Dean was feeling a little readier to face what was left of the day.

The afternoon coffee with his career idol really hadn’t hurt either – but that didn’t count for feeling more productive, because even hours after Cas had left, _exchanging numbers with him_ for fuck’s sake, Dean still felt like he might have imagined the entire incident.

Like, the guy was so _normal_ , Dean thought over again as he forced himself out the door for that run he’d been putting off all day. Dean didn’t really know what he’d expected from a guy responsible for so many witty and, heart-wrenching and shocking scores, that had accompanied Dean on so many long nights of paperwork. Because the man was a genius. Not very well known for it because of the genre continually getting overturned but that was it too – that famously those movies did so well – they were never your average horror flick. The quality and humour of the direction and the standard and consistency of the scores made them stand out. There were never any long silences for the main character breathing heavily in a Meg Masters movie, and sometimes you almost wished there would be – it was too claustrophobic at times.

So, genius, that Dean had already known, but the guy was also… very, very nice to look at, Dean allowed himself to think again as he desperately forced his legs to keep moving. People like Sam did this for _fun_ …

But, yeah. Cas was gorgeous, and he had apparently wanted to hang out with Dean. He’d barely picked up anything for Lilith from the house before leaving, but he’d been keen to pick up all sorts of facts about Dean.

Which was flattering. Dean wasn’t sure if the guy had really been _flirting_ since he’d had so little experience in it over the last few years – honestly, he and Crowley becoming each other’s sex fall-backs had started making him lazy. They didn’t flirt – they usually yelled about work some and then invited the other one home.

Done now officially with his attempt at running, Dean slowed himself down to a quick walk that was rapidly threatening to develop a limp. This was pathetic. He wasn’t even sure why he’d even attempted this other than that you were supposed to do things you never got around to when you were on holiday and… oh yeah, because a hot guy came over and found Dean in the clothes he’d been sleeping in and with no good explanation and for why he was there and he’d wanted to feel _less_ pathetic in getting away. Right.

Despite walking, Dean still nearly succeeded in tripping over a man sitting in a wheelchair on the sidewalk in front of him. The problem was – and this was not Dean’s fault – that the man had been rolling along at a hefty pace before stopping suddenly.

As he noticed tripping at the edge of his vision, the old man trained a withering glare on Dean. “Could you watch it? Some people are walking here.”

Dean cleared his throat and stood up straighter, trying to work out if a laugh was expected of him as he stood feeling vaguely self-conscious of his running shorts. “Sorry about that,” he said, setting for what he felt was a safe answer. Dean’s Mom’s parents had died the same year that she had, and he’d always felt like there was some specific way to address older people that most people understood and he’d never got.

“But, uh… you alright?”

The man grunted, looking up at him critically but with something glinting in his eye that Dean couldn’t decide if it was a warning to back off or something like amusement.

“Still smiling, ain’t I?”

The man was not smiling.

“Just… you looked a little lost there.”

“Well maybe that’s because I’m lost.”

“Fuck, you’re making this hard work – you want help getting home?”

“Help? No. But… I suppose I do wanna get home.”

Dean smiled and pulled out his phone. “Ok, what’s your address?”

Though obviously still reluctant and clearly nursing some embarrassment, the old man told him and Dean punched it into google maps.

“Oh hey, you’re just around the corner from here. I can wheel you over there no problem.”

The old man raised his eyebrows. “Sure you’ve not gotta run off somewhere?”

Dean coughed awkwardly and took hold of the wheelchair arms gesturing a question of whether that was ok. “Yeah, I think uh, not sure running’s for me.”

“Just fancied giving it a try though? On a whim? Bit early for New Year resolutions.”

“A holiday thing.”

“Really – on holiday _here_?”

“What’s wrong with here?”

The old man raised a hand in the air in general and flapped it down again as though this alone should have been enough of an explanation. “Look at this shithole. Fake house and faker people.”

“Well how come you’re here then?”

“Believe me, kid. I was here a hell of a long time before any of this stuff turned up.”

Dean smiled. “It’s uh, it’s Dean actually.”

“So, what brings you here on holiday then, Dean?”

“Not wanting to be where I was.”

The old man grunted as though that was an acceptable answer. “So, your girlfriend dumped you.”

Dean made a face and considered lying or having to leave this guy on the side of the road out of principle. “Ex-boyfriend getting married.”

“Ah.” The man was quiet a moment but then continued on. “See I figured it had to be either a break-up or a firing. That’s how these things usually go.”

“You an expert?”

“No, but I am a writer.”

“Written anything I’ll have heard of?”

“Probably.”

“Now, c’mon you can’t turn cryptic on me now.”

“Well, the name’s Bobby Singer. You heard of me?”

“…no.”

“Well, there you go then.”

After looking down at his phone again, Dean started wheeling them both up the street. “Well, I think this is you up here, right?”

“Think so.” Bobby seemed to wrestle with himself before answering again. “Thank you. Just… they keep changing shit around. Makes it hard to remember some days.”

“Do you get any… help?”

“Fuck, kid, I’m not that old.”

Biting back an ‘are you sure?’ Dean rolled them up the drive, noting that this house did seem a few decades older than the rest of the neighbourhood.

“Y’got a key?”

“Just… gimme a sec,” Bobby said, fiddling with the pockets on his shirt, his trousers. He seemed to have at least momentarily given up on the pretence that he didn’t need help, and Dean felt his heart… shift, a little. He would never have to grow up to look after his parents as they got older because neither of them had lived long enough for that. He wondered whether his Dad would have softened in his old age, whether they might have got to meet him, vulnerable, frustrated at being able to do less…

“Found ‘em.”

“Cool, give ‘em here.”

The old man eyed him a little suspiciously. “You’re not gonna rob me of everything in my house, are you?”

“Why do people keep asking me that lately? No, I’m not. I do not have that much luggage space.”

“Not got much worth stealing at any rate.”

“Huh, well I’m sure… oh, you weren’t kidding.”

“Thanks.”

The empty hallway led into an almost as bare living room, with only a faded sofa sitting in front of an older model tv. It was sandwiched in by two separate DVD cabinets – one large, with a varied selection, the other dusty and slim, and filled with only horror movies. Very specific horror movies actually…

“Singer and Turner,” muttered Dean. “Fuck. Bobby Singer. You’re Singer?”

“Used to be,” the man grunted, before rolling himself in. “And now my TV’s broke.”

There were a lot of things Dean wanted to say. He’d met his musical hero yesterday. But Singer and Turner were the blockbuster heirs to Hitchcock, and their movies had been Dean’s childhood. Whenever their Dad had been out late working, he and Sam would sit up too late gorging themselves on popcorn and candy, making their way through the whole collection of fun classic horrors. But then they’d grown up, Sam had moved out and it had been twenty years since Singer and Turner had made one of their movies together.

“Y’called anyone about it?”

After Dean had determined that the TV was unfixable, he stood up and only had to consider things for a moment before saying, “look, man… I can’t fix this for you. But – look, not in a weird way, but I’m a fan, ok? And I really am on holiday here, alone, and I do have like five TVs…”

Bobby looked him square in the eye, but clearly unsure what was coming next. “Yeah?”

“Well, d’you wanna come over and watch TV with me some time?”

“…yeah, alright.” Bobby shrugged. “Not like I’m busy…”

*

Cas maybe jumped a little quick at the first opportunity when Lilith complained at the big pre-Christmas clan gathering that she regretted not bringing her good hair straighteners back with her. In fact, he agreed so quickly that she actually squinted her eyes at him, briefly drawn out of her own bubble of narcissism long enough to focus on another person.

“You seem awfully keen there, Cas…”

He’d made some sort of excuse, which she’d barely listened to, and the next day he was driving back over to Dean’s – to Ruby, _Ruby’s_ – house, and though he could see the car was in the driveway, it took a long while of buzzing before Dean managed a “shit, sorry,” and buzzed him in.

When Dean answered the door, he was laughing. “I’m sorry. I uh, I have company over.”

Cas felt his heart sink down to his stomach.

Dean must have noticed his expression because moments later he was rushing to explain – “no! I mean… please come in. I’m just hosting a movie night for a friend I met yesterday.”

“I’m a friend now, am I? A minute ago I was a nuisance.” An older man in a wheelchair wheeled in next to Dean.

Cas’s eyes darted between them both, a pathetic amount of relief flooding through him.

“Movies, huh?”

*


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruby suffers a hangover.

This time when they woke up together in his brother’s bed, Ruby was up first.

After scanning perfunctorily back through her memories – when did we get back, how did we get back, why did I ask him home, did we sleep together, _god_ he looks pretty when he sleeps, did I remember to take my make-up off – and found that the answers to all were mundane enough to satisfy her (bar the make-up issues because that definitely wasn’t just sleep clogging the corners of her eye) she sat up. The light which made her wince was pouring in through the uncovered window facing the bed told her that it had to be at least mid-morning – the sun didn’t seem to come out much here in the morning, not in winters.

Winter, which meant that the mornings were also fucking cold

Cursing at the chilled floorboards under her feet, Ruby braved getting out of the bed and, hugging herself, made her way over to the boiler, which, charmingly, was hidden behind a cupboard door in the bedroom.

She fiddled with the buttons for a few moment before she felt two long arms winding around her waist from behind her and Sam put his right hand over her own and switched on the boiled correctly.

“Thanks,” she said, “but _fuck_ , your hands are cold.”

He laughed, taking his hands off her waist, and Ruby felt her heart give a traitorous squirm. She hadn’t meant that she’d wanted him to take his hands away.

“How’d you sleep?” she asked, turning herself around to face him.

He shrugged, and she had to take a moment to process the movements of those shoulders. And those arms which had carried her up the cottage steps when she’d complained about walking in heels over the newly formed ice.

“Not bad. That memory foam really does work.”

“The one I’ve got back home suits me better,” she admitted, stopping when she noticed Sam’s raised eyebrows. He was making fun of her, but quietly, fondly – not like when Lilith would have put her down with a glare and Ruby would have to think of a comeback to not be left the hapless idiot at the party or whatever public place Lilith had chosen to unleash her wit.

Not that she should really be comparing Sam to Lilith. For one, Sam was strictly a fling and Lilith had been someone she’d lived with, had been someone _serious_.

But Sam was still standing there, staring at her like the most important thing he had to do all day was continue staring at her, as though he was trying his best to commit her to memory. Which was ridiculous and –

“So I was wondering…”

“Why neither of us can hold our drinks?”

His cheeks always crinkled when he smiled, and all she wanted to do was to be able to make him laugh again.

“No, I was thinking we should go out for something. Breakfast…” he glanced at the window “…or lunch. Brunch?”

Ruby took his hand, enjoying the weight of it over her own, remembering the way those hands had held her that night they’d met and wondering if she wouldn’t prefer to not go out. “Didn’t take you for a brunch kind of guy.”

“Well, I mean I wouldn’t like to be known as specifically The Brunch Guy. More like a guy who will consider sometimes having brunch when the occasion arises.”

Which was how, a day after she should have been catching that flight home, Ruby found herself wandering up after the man she had now spent two nights with and slept with once. He seemed to have made it a personal mission to see that she saw the best of his adopted city, and was walking up purposefully away from that shining bay, smiling up at the sun, when Ruby stopped him.

“That smell,” she said, “What is that?”

Sam wrinkled his nose and smiled, looking a little suspicious. “That’s just the local chippy smell. But now this organic place we’re heading up to, I mean it Ruby it’s -”

“Sam,” Ruby said, grabbing his wrist and leading him back down the street, “I am more hungover than I’ve probably been in ten years, there are a hundred thousand organic bakeries or whatever in L.A. and that smells -”

“Like a hangover cure?” Sam asked, keeping his smile despite the fact that Ruby could feel him dragging his feet.

It turned out that the guy behind the counter recognised Sam, which Sam seemed bashful about, and they sat in to have their chips with kebab and curry sauce. Ruby ignored her date for a full 10 minutes as she had what she felt might be a religious experience.

“Don’t look so upset,” she said as she looked up at his expression, “I thought you wanted me to experience the real Scottish culture.”

“Maybe not this real,” Sam said, not eating his chips with anything like her enthusiasm. “God, you really would get on well with my brother.”

Carefully, Ruby picked up another chip. They definitely weren’t fries, that didn’t fit, they were far too fat, too squishy. She was pretty sure she liked them, but she was very sure that they were exactly what she needed.

“Remind me, he’s older, right?”

“Yeah, by four years,”

“So how old were you both when you moved?”

“Oh, teenagers. That was a fun way to start high school – because high school here is everything after age eleven.”

“Bit of a culture shock then.”

“Oh yeah. Dean helped me a lot though. I was, uh, the little scrawny kid in school for a while,” Sam admitted, to a widening grin from Ruby, “but he was always around to watch my back.”

“I don’t think I would have made a great sibling,” Ruby said, “I’m far too self-centred.”

Sam sat back in his chair, apparently giving up on his chips. “I don’t know if I’d say that -”

“You’ve known me for like a day and I’ve already forcibly made you change your brunch plans.”

“See, I think I’d say that’s just _impulsive_ behaviour, not selfish.”

Ruby ate another chip. “I’ll allow it.”

Sam smiled, like he was struggling not to laugh.

“What’s funny?”

“I was wondering about what sort of boss you are, back in your cool high-powered Hollywood job.”

She waved a chip in his direction. “I make an excellent boss, and I’ll let you in on my secret to how I manage it.”

“Go ahead.”

“I employ an excellent P.A. who I pay even more excellently. Probably too excellently, but she’s very persuasive. And I can feel my teenage self hating me right now for everything I just said.”

“I don’t know, it’s cool – you’re a boss, literally. My job pretty much involves being a hermit, about 90% of the time.”

“And that suits you ok?”

“It means that when I spend a lot of time with people, it’s when I want to, y’know? So, yeah. I think it suits me. I have a study room at home and everything.”

Ruby smiled down at what was left of her chips. The curry sauce hadn’t tasted anything like any curry she’d ever had in her life but she was happy to accept it as such.

“My Grandma used to say stuff like that. That’s why she lived out in the middle of nowhere. I always thought that was pretty cool as a kid. She loved me, but I think she’d just straight-up given up on my Mom a long time ago – and yeah – she just never let other people’s bullshit drag her down.” Ruby nodded to herself, grimacing. “Which is probably how I ended up as a ‘Career Woman’ type with no thoughts of a family, and, y’know…”

“Spending Christmas on the other side of the world from home.”

“Well, yeah, exactly.” Ruby shrugged. “I guess. I kinda thought I’d be spending Christmas with the ex’s family, and spending it alone somewhere else just sounded less lonely. Does that sound messed up?”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t think so. And hey, so far you haven’t bee, right? Lonely, I mean.”

Ruby rolled her eyes and went in for the last chip. “I mean sure, can’t seem to shake you yet…”

Suddenly the red plastic table they were leaning on started shuddering and Ruby realised that Sam’s phone was buzzing. She didn’t notice she was trying to read the called ID until he snatched it up so quickly that she was robbed of the chance. “I’m sorry, I have to take this,” he explained, and left the chip shop.

Ignoring the glances of the man behind the counter, Ruby picked up her phone in a vain attempt to seem like she, too, had someone to talk to. But no, not even a work email. She had nothing to stop her just watching the way he kept pacing back and forth outside. He was smiling a smile she hadn’t seen him wear before; it looked as though he was indulging someone.

He really didn’t _seem_ like someone who would cheat on his partner.

Lilith absolutely had, Ruby wasn’t a complete idiot. But then how much could you really ever know about a person after only one day?

But then, maybe she needed to quit jumping to conclusions.

Or, maybe the fact that she was implied that she should be pulling the breaks on whatever it was going on between them. Holiday flings shouldn’t lead to unpacking her feelings about her Grandma. No one usually got those stories out of her. But Sam had just by smiling at her gently and buying her garbage food.

“Hey,” he said when he walked back in, the cold making him sound out of breath. “Wanna -”

“Sure,” Ruby said, standing. And then they were back outside, back to looking at each other.

“So, if you want I can walk you home…”

“I can probably find it ok,” Ruby said, crossing her arms, deciding she’d already let the rebound run on too long. “But, hey, if you’re out on this side of town again…”

He looked like a giant, lost puppy and she almost relented. “Of – of course. I’ll let you know.”

He didn’t kiss her goodbye, but he did give her a hug.

Ruby watched him walk away, and then remembered that she really didn’t know the way back.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean invites Cas for a drive.

Cas was working when Dean called him. He shouldn’t have been. Technically this was what he’d designated as his day off, but he’d found himself at his piano that morning, hardly aware of what he was doing, but decided that Meg’s new final girl needed a new theme for her moments of triumph amidst the tragedy of her life.

He and Meg had been working together for so long now that they barely needed to tell each other what their intentions were with each move – no matter how different the flick. It was the same sort of movie, and much as their talents and experiences had developed over the years they were very much the same sort of artists. And, usually, the one-note nature of that never bothered Cas. Horror, with all the genre’s structure and fascination with monsters, had fascinated him since he’d been a child, and Meg’s brand of working within the genre always felt fresh, raw and watchable.

And so there he’d been, sitting quietly with a coffee at his piano – the one he kept for pleasure, not the keyboard he had for work – thinking about the strange night of watching the strange beautiful man living in Ruby’s house casually craft an evening with one of the greatest legends in horror, in Hollywood really, as though the three of them were old and dear friends. And Cas had gotten to thinking about the first loving scene shown between the final girl and her girlfriend, and the grotesque reimagining of it which would later, and felt that it deserved a warm theme to fit that one moment she had to hold onto – a theme Cas later planned to twist of course, to reintroduce in a minor key when –

Which was how Cas had found himself back in his studio.

He didn’t really need to start work on the new movie until at least after Christmas, he knew that. He could get out, do something for fun, see people… And just as he’d started to stare out the window towards the glare of the sunshine, Dean called him.

“Hey, Cas, how’s it going?”

“Dean.” He shouldn’t say that he hadn’t expected to hear from him, that would sound off. “It’s good to hear from you.” And that sounded too keen.

“Honestly, Cas, I’ll be real, you are still just about the only person I know on this side of the Atlantic and uh… I could use a favour. Could I drop by and explain?”

Cas frowned before feeling his expression fade into a smile. “Of course, Dean. As I said last night, this is a quiet period for me professionally and I’d enjoy showing you around a few of the sights.”

… _like his apartment._

No. Like the walk of fame, Cas corrected himself firmly. Getting a chance to get to know Bobby Singer had been incredible, and he was grateful to Dean for making it happen, for having that charming ability to just meet someone and bring them home - or call them in the middle of the day with no pre-warning – but he had admittedly spent a lot of the evening wishing that they’d been alone.

“Actually,” he heard Dean laugh down the phone, “it’s a bit weirder than that…”

*

Cas had a nice place, Dean thought as he stared at the front door. In comparison to how Ruby was living, Cas’s apartment would seem almost working class -  if it weren’t for the price-tag Dean knew was hanging over the area. It was minimalist but not ugly with it. Maybe he liked keeping things simple, humble.

It was, after all, a place for a single guy. Dean had made sure to check that out the night before = and while he still wasn’t sure enough to make a move, he was almost certain that the guy wasn’t straight.

Prepared for Cas walking out of his building’s door, Dean had posed himself accordingly, leaning on the car with his jacket tastefully covering the parts of himself he felt he’d rather disguise and his sunglasses tipped just so down his nose. But watching the very cool composer Cas Milton almost drop his keys as he tried wandering down the steps towards Dean made it difficult to keep the straight face he’d been wearing.

“Hey, Sunshine,” Dean said, flashing a smile and holding out the spare holiday themed coffee he’d picked up on his way like a carrot in front of a horse. Cas took it with only a small glance of suspicion – the larger he saved for Dean’s car.

“You know I have a car. Why rent one?”

“Well, I might want to do something over these two weeks without you being there,” Dean pointed out, which made Cas’s cheeks redden, “and because your car makes me sad to look at, much less sit in.”

“My car is -”

“Not happening. You gonna get in the car already?”

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

“If you get in the car and find out, sure,” Dean said, looking up to check he wasn’t pushing this, but to his relief saw a puzzled smile tugging up the corners of Cas’s lips as he climbed into the other side of the car.

Sure, she wasn’t a _beauty_ , but it hadn’t felt right not having his own car. This trip was supposed to be getting out there more, not sitting at home in someone else’s home.

“So, this favour,” Cas said, almost immediately after Dean put the key back in the ignition.

“Uh… yeah,” Dean started feeling less sure of himself as he turned the radio up. “So… you met Bobby.”

“I did. Last night. He seemed to be an interesting fount of knowledge.”

“Right? Like he’s grumpy, sure, but what an awsesome -”

“Dean, what’s this favour?”

“I wanna do a parent trap.”

“ _Dean_.”

“It’s just… well, after you left last night, and we got into this whole big discussion about it. It’s his co-director – Turner? He really misses him, like really _misses_ him. And they’re supposed to accept this whole lifetime achievement in horror award thing soon – but neither of them are going to turn up because they don’t want to risk bumping into each other or making the feud worse. And I just thought -”

“That you could end one of the most legendary feuds in Hollywood just by asking nicely?”

Dean shrugged and stared forwards. “Look, it sounds ridiculous when you put it like that, I know, but it’s _Christmas_ , and they might be semi-famous or whatever but now they’re just these two lonely old guys.”

“I’m almost sure that Turner’s Jewish.”

“What?”

“I’m sure I read that somewhere… point is, he might not appreciate the Hallmark movie speech if that’s what you were planning to pin all this on.”

“Ok, I’ll get to editing then. See, this is why I brought you along. And yeah, because you’re about the only person nearby that I have a number for.”

Cas smiled, looking down bashfully, as though Dean had just gifted him with some kind of great and lofty compliment. “Well, I suppose it’s worth a try. Though, I’ll confess I’m possibly not the best at looking to deal with healing old traumas.”

“Oh yeah? You got a closet full of exes too?”

Cas looked up again from his lap. “No, much less of that. Much more of a very large very contentious family. I’m sure you’ve experienced similar.”

Dean shrugged, bobbing his head along to the music, and suddenly vaguely self-conscious about his radio station choice. He was in a car with one of his musical heroes and the radio station was playing Air Supply.

(Which he would probably be singing along to if he was alone in the car.)

“Not exactly. Yeah, it’s literally just me and my brother these days – Dad didn’t exactly keep track of family when he hauled us off to the other side of the world. So we’ve never had issues following any fall-outs our second or third cousins might be having or whatever.”

“That sounds peaceful,” Cas said, with a theatrical sigh.

“Ruby’s ex, she’s your…”

“Niece. Don’t worry – I know it’s a lot to keep track of. Which is why I tend not to.”

Dean grinned at the road. He was relieved that so far they hadn’t suffered through any long silences, but now every time the conversation ebbed even a little he started worrying that it wouldn’t return. That this would turn awkward, and Cas would start wondering what sort of fuckery he’d signed on for.

“So, what is the history behind the Singer/Turner split? Bobby didn’t mention.”

“Well, no one _knows_ , that’s sort of the whole mystery to it.”

Dean knew that much, but he hadn’t really asked for a new answer.

“People say they started falling out behind the scenes of their last movie -”

“ _Grave Robbers_.”

“That Singer, the writer, hated the direction Turner was taking the movie. But when it actually cleaned up critically -”

“- Turner claimed Singer was trying to claim the limelight on his own.”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “You do know the history.”

Dean shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road, and the depressing lines of traffic filling it. “Wanted to know if you knew anything else.”

“Ammunition for going in to talk to Turner himself.”

“Exactly.”

“What makes you think he’ll even see you? He’s notoriously reclusive.”

“I’m charming,” Dean pointed out, flashing Cas a smile and tried to ignore the strange twitching going on with his passenger’s lips in reaction. “And… well he might not, but it feels weird being back in the states and not driving, y’know? Spent half my childhood in a car, carted around the country.”

“Your family is sounding less and less stable as you continue.”

Dean laughed. “Yeah. We’re simpler than yours, for sure, but that’s never looked stable. At best we used to hit functional.” He tapped his fingers absently on the steering wheel, in what vaguely resembled the beat of the music. “Uh... Yeah. I mean I guess seeing Bobby yesterday was making me think about my Dad. I always thought we’d come back here, some day, even if it was just a trip or whatever. That he hadn’t just ran away. But he never got to do the grumpy old man thing – he was just a grumpy man, and then he was a dead man.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Goddamn liver failure, of all things. But anyway, we never came this far west so I can’t even claim any of this feels familiar. But…” He let a smile quirk up his lips. “I know Dad would have had a lot of people he would have wanted to reconnect with, if he’d known he’d had more time, or if he’d been less stubborn.” Dean finished with a shrug. “So I guess that’s why I’ve made this my little Christmas crusade.”

Cas nodded. “Well, I’m glad I’m along to watch.”

“And to support… right?”

Turning to face the road again, Cas arranged his hands gravely on his lap. “Well I’ve heard enough about Rufus Turner’s legendary ability to hold a grudge not to want to promise that just yet. But I’m glad to be here… drinking free coffee and watching you not watch the road very well.”

“I am watching the – ah, shit.”

*


End file.
